


maybe tomorrow i won't feel this pain

by ennta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-07 16:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17963861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ennta/pseuds/ennta
Summary: It's a long road to Dorne for a man with a twisted leg.





	maybe tomorrow i won't feel this pain

 

Oberyn had lived a long life, and a full one, and few things in the world had the power to surprise him anymore; the visitor waiting in his solar, however, stopped him short.

“Prince Oberyn.” The young man was no older than nine and ten, with sprightly brown curls cut close to frame his jaw. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t rise to greet you.” He nodded at the way his right leg twisted unnaturally, but he was smiling. He wore loose gold trousers pulled tight at the ankles and a long layered sandsilk tunic, light and billowy and shimmering with a dozen hues of green.

“Willas Tyrell.” When Oberyn had been told weeks ago that Sunspear was expecting a delegation from Highgarden, he had never thought to find himself face to face with the man before him. Willas had been a green boy with two good legs the first time Oberyn met him, and a cripple when last they parted. In the days between the meeting and the parting, there had been a tourney, and the lightning crack of Oberyn’s lance on Willas’s shield, and the screams of Willas and his horse as they fell to the earth in a tangle of flesh.

“I was led to believe your lord father would be making the journey here himself.” Oberyn had been rather looking forward to watching Mace Tyrell sweat beneath the Dornish sun, but the sight of his eldest son was far sweeter.

Willas smiled and studied the wine flute in his hand. “He believed much the same, but he is an easy man to sway.”

Oberyn crossed the room to perch on the windowsill, his arms folded across his chest. “And what brought you here in his stead, Willas Tyrell? Surely it was not the prospect of a grueling trek across mountains and desert.”

Willas stared out the window. “Even cripples wish to see the great wide world.”

“Still, I know the difficulties of getting a wheelhouse through the Prince’s Pass--”

“I rode,” Willas said sharply. He looked at Oberyn as though daring Oberyn to doubt him. Oberyn merely smiled and held his hands out, palms up, in a conciliatory gesture. “I wrote you long ago that our master of horse found a man to design a saddle for me, so that I could ride again.”

Oberyn remembered that letter; it was the first Willas had sent him, nigh on half a year after the disastrous tourney. Willas’s handwriting had slanted across the parchment, scrawled in a fast, excited hand, and Oberyn had smiled as he read it aloud to Ellaria. Still, while a special saddle may have made it possible for Willas to ride, it had to have been agony journeying across the length of Dorne to Sunspear.

“And are you in pain?” Oberyn asked lightly, trying to gauge the look on Willas’s face. “It’s a difficult ride, no matter who sits the horse.” He noted that Willas’s good foot was encased in a soft tan sandal laced around his ankle, but his other foot was bare and slightly swollen.

Willas smiled sadly. “I am. I ache like an old man; my leg, yes, but my shoulders and back as well. I only wanted to greet you, as you were not with the retinue your brother sent to greet my men.”

Oberyn had, in fact, been summoned to stand at Prince Doran’s side as he welcomed the Tyrells, but Oberyn had chosen instead to play tiles with two of his younger daughters while their mother entertained a lovely young Myrish woman in her own chambers.

“I was with my daughters,” Oberyn explained. “I didn’t feel my presence was required.”

Willas smiled. “And how are your daughters?”

“Well enough.” Oberyn took a drink of Willas’s wine. “Elia spends all her time in the stables with the horses. We’ve found her sleeping in the stalls half a dozen times in the last fortnight. Obella bested me at tiles just this afternoon, or so I’ll let her believe. Sarella got a fine new bow for her name day and has been the terror of the training yard ever since. Shot a plum off a boy’s head, and he pissed himself.” He cocked his head at Willas. “And your family?” he asked politely.

Willas rubbed his bad leg. “Margaery causes more trouble than anyone believes her capable of. Garlan is still squiring at Cider Hall. He thinks he’s likely to be knighted soon. King Robert promised Father that Lord Stannis would take Loras for a squire, but Lord Stannis refused, and Father has taken that for a slight.” Willas sighed. “Truth be told, I would rather lay that headache at his feet, and brave the Prince’s Pass.

“But I didn’t come here to bore you with the particulars of my family’s daily lives. As I said, I’m very sore from the road, and I’ve greeted you as I meant to. I should take my leave.”

When Willas reached for the cane he had leaned against the wall, Oberyn stopped him, placing a hand on one shoulder and kneading gently. Willas’s eyes fluttered closed and he bit his lower lip. Oh, but he was lovely; the sun was hot in Dorne, and Willas’s journey had left him tanned and freckled from the neck up. Where the silks of his tunic dipped deep from his collarbones to his stomach, Oberyn saw skin a few shades paler, untouched by the heat.

“I could tend to your aches,” Oberyn said carefully, putting a bit more pressure into his touch. He did not think Willas would take offense at his advances, nor would Oberyn take offense should Willas rebuff him, but the Tyrells were a prickly sort, and Willas was perhaps the only one Oberyn would take no pleasure in provoking.

“Are you a maester?” Willas teased, but his voice was thin and breathy.

“I learned many things at the Citadel.” Oberyn moved behind Willas to dig the heels of his palms into Willas’s shoulder blades. “But not the things I would teach you of.”

“Oh.” Willas’s shoulders tensed and Oberyn stilled his hands, but then Willas relaxed again. “I’m fond of learning,” he breathed.

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of Willas’s head. His curls smelled of cinnamon. “Come to my bed, little rose,” he entreated. “I’ll soothe your shoulders, and your back, and more besides.”

When Oberyn tried to help Willas stand, thinking to hook an arm beneath his and help him to the bed, Willas shot him a haughty look and reached for his cane. Oberyn fought a smile and lost, but Willas matched it as they made their way to Oberyn’s bedchamber. Willas refused to let Oberyn help him into the bed; instead, he pulled himself up onto the silks, dragging his bad leg up after him. Once he had settled back against the pillows and the headboard, he looked up at Oberyn and raised an eyebrow.

“Roll over, little rose,” Oberyn said, and then, at the flash of uncertainty in Willas’s eyes, “I only mean to rub the ache from your limbs.” Oberyn turned away, pulling open a cabinet to fetch two vials of sweet-smelling oil. When he turned back to the bed, Willas was lying on his stomach, his head pillowed on crossed arms. He watched Oberyn with big eyes that shone golden in the fading light. _Hawk eyes_ , Oberyn thought. _For as gentle as he seems, he is not without talons._

Oberyn slid the silks from Willas’s shoulders, down his torso until they pooled around his waist. He slicked his hands with oil and slid them up Willas’s back and over his shoulders. Willas sighed sweetly at that, and Oberyn went to work, kneading and pressing at knots beneath Willas’s skin, eliciting more sighs, each sweeter than the last. He ran his hands up Willas’s sides, down his spine; he rubbed the small of Willas’s back until Willas moaned softly.

“Better?” Oberyn asked, leaning down to nuzzle the curls at the nape of Willas’s neck.

“My leg,” Willas murmured, and the look he shot Oberyn was curious, cautious. “My leg still hurts.”

“Ah.” Oberyn carefully rolled Willas over and feathered a touch over his bad leg. “You’d like me to rub your leg as well?”

Willas reached for the laces on his breeches, his eyes locked with Oberyn’s as he undid them. “It would help a great deal, I think.”

“Bold, aren’t you?” Oberyn laughed. He slid the soft, loose trousers off Willas’s slim hips, then gently worked them over Willas’s bad leg. He undid the sash keeping Willas’s tunic rucked about him, and slid that off as well. Willas looked somehow both defiant and apprehensive as Oberyn undressed him, but his expression melted into relief when Oberyn gently touched his leg.

“Here,” Willas said, placing Oberyn’s hand on his thigh, just above his knee. “That’s where it tends to stiffen up.”

Willas had stiffened up in other places, too, but Oberyn did not mention that, not quite yet. He simply massaged Willas’s leg as he had massaged his back and his shoulders, watching Willas’s eyes fall closed and his head loll back onto a pillow. Willas’s cock was half-hard beneath his smallclothes, and Oberyn’s stirred to match it. He let his hands wander up the inside of Willas’s thigh, and Willas’s hips rose to meet his touch.

Oberyn smiled and stilled his hand. “That’s all they taught me at the Citadel, I’m afraid,” he said, when Willas opened his eyes to glare at him.

“Small wonder you don’t wear a chain,” Willas muttered. “What was it you hoped to teach me, then?”

Oberyn leaned over the young man, so close they were nose to nose. “Well,” Oberyn whispered, “they wouldn’t let me forge a link for fucking.”

Willas had not had much practice kissing, Oberyn could tell; he was eager enough, opening his mouth for Oberyn’s tongue, but he was sloppy and graceless, young and sweet. Oberyn cupped the back of Willas’s head to guide the kiss; he slowed his pace, kissed more carefully, and smiled against Willas’s mouth when Willas followed his lead.

“Lie back for me,” Oberyn murmured against Willas’s throat, and he kissed his way down Willas’s torso. He licked at Willas’s nipples, earning a choking gasp for his efforts, and sucked the blood to the surface of Willas’s skin in half a dozen places before he finally hooked his fingers beneath the waist of Willas’s smallclothes and pulled his cock free.

When Oberyn looked up, Willas was flushed and gasping, his throat working to swallow, his eyes closed. Oberyn wondered if Willas had ever lain with anyone before; it seemed perverse somehow that he would come to the man who had hurt him so to learn of pleasure. Oberyn slid one hand down Willas’s bad leg, rubbing at the spot Willas had shown him, and took Willas’s cock in his mouth.

Willas thrust up against Oberyn so suddenly that Oberyn had to pin his hips down with both hands; Oberyn had hoped to take his time, to use his hands and tongue to tease and take until Willas begged, but Oberyn quickly realized Willas was hardly capable of being patient. It only took a few minutes for Willas to spill his seed into Oberyn’s mouth, and Oberyn had a mind to tease him for his lack of stamina until he saw Willas’s face.

Willas’s eyes were wide and … _awed_ , Oberyn realized with a smile. He knew he was skilled, but he had never seen quite that look on any man’s face, after.

Oberyn lay down beside Willas and slid his own breeches and smallclothes down. His cock was longer than Willas’s, and thicker, and he stroked it lazily. Willas watched with eyes that were thoughtful and lustful in turn.

“Would you like to touch?” Oberyn offered.

Willas’s hand was tentative, his grip on Oberyn’s cock gentle. He stroked it a few times, sliding his thumb over the head, his touch agonizingly slow. Oberyn took Willas’s hand away and pulled it to his mouth. He kissed Willas’s knuckles, then sucked two fingers into his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. He licked a stripe up the palm of Willas’s hand, then guided that hand back down to his cock.

“Touch me like you touch yourself,” Oberyn instructed, and Willas’s grip grew firmer, more assured. “Yes, that’s lovely, little rose.” Willas flushed in pleasure at the praise, and so Oberyn praised him well, and often, until he spilled into Willas’s palm.

When Oberyn opened his eyes, Willas had propped himself up on an elbow beside him. He was licking Oberyn’s seed off his fingers, his brow furrowed in thought, and Oberyn knew that if he were younger, just that image would have been enough to arouse him again.

“I’m not sure how I feel about the taste,” Willas finally laughed, wiping his hand on the bed.

“It’s no worse than the taste of a woman,” Oberyn said.

Willas frowned and rolled over onto his back. “I wouldn’t know,” he said softly. “I’ve hardly any marriage prospects, and I’m too recognizable to visit the brothels, even if I cared to.”

 _My fault, he means, though he would never say it_. Oberyn leaned down and pressed a kiss just above the knee of Willas’s crooked leg. “It was ill luck, little rose,” he whispered. He sat up and ran a hand through Willas’s curls. He met Willas’s eyes, and they were not accusing, only wistful.

“Ill luck,” Willas echoed. He reached out and cupped Oberyn’s cheek in his palm. “But perhaps not so ill as I first thought.”

Oberyn had always enjoyed Willas’s letters; he found he enjoyed Willas’s presence even more. “How long do you plan to stay in Sunspear?”

“A moon’s turn, perhaps, if your brother will have us.” Willas’s smile was somehow both shy and suggestive. “I find I’m enjoying it here.”

Oberyn laughed and ran a hand gently up and down the skin of Willas’s bad leg. “I mean to make sure you enjoy it a good deal more.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [title](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTNnwzXrVdg)  
> [tumblr](http://knight-of-the-flowers.tumblr.com)  
> written for [asoiafrarepairs week](https://asoiafrarepairs.tumblr.com/post/182250688187/did-you-miss-out-on-the-last-amazing-event-do-you)


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